


Heavy Weapons and How to Care For Them

by Armengard



Series: Heavy Weapons [3]
Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Free Heap, Horizon Zero Dawn - Freeform, Petra will forever be bae, Post-Apocalyptic Threesomes, Post-Canon, Return of Post-Apocalyptic Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armengard/pseuds/Armengard
Summary: Aloy indulges in a fantasy and then deals with an injury that tests her will and her happiness, all while dealing with an overly flirty Oseram lover. It sure is hard to be the hero.Part three of the Heavy Weapons series, sequel to "Heavy Weapons and How to Use Them" and "Heavy Weapons and How to Make Them."





	Heavy Weapons and How to Care For Them

Of course.

Of course Petra would do this. Of course Petra would spend who knows how much time and effort to find her, the girl from Lower Meridian, the one with the beautiful face and bountiful chest, the exact same one who’d given Aloy the heady, close-quarters dance she just couldn’t seem to forget, over two years ago now. Only Petra would have hunted that one nameless girl down specifically for this purpose. Only Petra would have remembered.

Aloy is going to kill her.

It had taken a very long time before Aloy was comfortable with her decision to act on a long-buried desire of hers—a _fantasy_ , Petra calls it, though now it is about to become a reality.

Naturally, it started with the dancing girl. It was entirely her fault, crawling and pressing all over Aloy in some dark parlor late at night with Petra just out of reach, watching them both with lecherous delight. Aloy had felt a great many things that evening. Arousal, confusion, surprise, anxiety, and more, all mixing together into a maelstrom of gut-churning emotion that swirled and swirled until she was too muddled to even think straight.

Since then, throughout their time together, the wonderful months and weeks and love-filled days, Petra would go out of her way to tease Aloy about other women—and it was always women, never men—especially if she caught her lover looking at them for longer than a few seconds with anything even vaguely approaching interest. She’d grab Aloy and whisper the dirtiest things imaginable in her ear, asking if Aloy maybe wanted to take the girl for a spin herself, in private, or if she would be bold enough to invite whoever it was to join them in their bed for a night.

“It’ll be fun,” Petra always said, only half-joking. “I know how to share. I’m very good at it.”

Every time, Aloy would blush and tell her to be quiet, or stomp off, or not say anything at all, too embarrassed to think about it for more than a moment or two. Still, the idea lingered, and took root, and grew.

She’s imagined it countless times by now—her and Petra, tangled together in their warm bedroll, which is always a pleasant thought, but then, adding another soft body to the furs, someone she could touch and then watch Petra touch, someone who would want to touch both of them back…

Sometimes, late at night when she can’t sleep, with Petra curled up against her back in the comforting heat of the forge at Free Heap, Aloy wonders what's wrong with her. Why did she have these thoughts, these urges? Why couldn't she be satisfied with having only Petra as her lover? Even after almost three years together, Petra still managed to exhaust her in every way—sexually and otherwise—and surprised her constantly with new ideas and adventures. She loves Petra more than she’s ever loved anyone. She’d die for her. So why can’t she just be happy?

But then, when Aloy thought about it more, she realized maybe it wasn’t just the girl from Lower Meridian who’d started it all. Petra was responsible as well. Aloy wouldn’t be thinking this way if Petra hadn’t brought them to that parlor, hadn’t planted the idea inside her brain, then encouraged it to blossom, always asking, hinting, flirting.

Once, a few months ago, in a seedy bar in, of course, Lower Meridian—which was quickly becoming one of Aloy’s favorite places to visit—she’d egged Aloy, who’d been slightly wobbly with liquid courage at the time, into kissing a beautiful woman who’d been flirting with the two of them all night. Afterwards, she’d felt flushed, excited, and guilty all at once. When they got back to their private campsite on the outskirts of the city, Petra had pushed her down to their bedroll with a frenzied sort of hunger and made Aloy scream for hours. Aloy still feels a pleasurable thrill whenever she thinks about it.

So, Petra wants it too. Aloy just wants both of them to be happy, and they are. Petra constantly tells her she loves her, and shows it every day in her actions. Aloy has felt restless for so long, but finds she is content any time Petra is near. Free Heap and Petra are her home now. She won’t ever do anything to jeopardize that.

But if Petra wants it, and Aloy, no matter how much she tries to deny it, wants it too, then perhaps they should just close their eyes and take the plunge.

Still, a part of Aloy is afraid, wary. What if they do this, and then realize their feelings for each other are not as deep as they thought? What if Aloy only grows more ravenous for other bodies, other girls, and forgets her Oseram lover? What if she ends up breaking Petra’s already several-times-repaired heart, shattered countless times from her previous lovers but lovingly re-pieced by Aloy herself?

But, no. Aloy knows the truth. She will never hurt Petra. Never.

And now, here they are. Back in Lower Meridian, in the supposedly legal and well-reputed brothel Petra had promised to bring her to so long ago. They are in a private back room dominated by a large, luxurious looking Meridian-style bed with far more pillows and blankets than they could ever need. Petra had insisted on paying for the room and choosing the girl herself, who—of course—turned out to be the exact same girl who’d caused the illicit fantasy in the first place.

So, yes. Aloy is going to kill Petra.

Just not right this moment.

“Hello,” says the girl. Her voice is sweet as honey and warm as the rising sun on the eastern rocks. With clothes on, she looks different than Aloy remembers. Taller. More mature. Not just a body to desire, but an actual person. She is maybe five years older than Aloy. Her face is clear of makeup, pale neck and wrists free of gaudy jewelry. Her hair is the color of fresh straw, and her eyes are the brightest blue Aloy has ever seen.

“Hello,” Aloy replies with only a slight blush. Over time, she has lost some of her shyness, only because after being repeatedly embarrassed by Petra, she is slowly becoming immune. Speaking of—Petra is currently seated on the enormous bed behind Aloy, legs folded casually, probably about to wet herself from glee.

“I’m Tana,” the girl says. For a second, Aloy is awkwardly reminded of her hunter friend, Talanah, someone she likes and respects but has certainly never fantasized about. “And you’re Aloy, the hero.”

Aloy stiffens, worried that Tana might suddenly bow to her, or ask for her blessing or something equally mortifying, but Tana doesn’t seem particularly enthralled by Aloy’s title or position as the savoir of their race, just intrigued, and definitely interested in a familiar way. She looks at Aloy like Petra does, with heavy-lidded eyes and an eager twist to her lips. Aloy has a feeling she won’t so much mind this version of worship, and fights back a shiver.

It’s silent for a moment, neither sure of what to do next. Aloy is half-sure Tana does not even work at this brothel—she wouldn’t put it beneath Petra to hunt the girl down at the dance parlor and somehow talk her into this madness. Still, Tana came, and she has not slapped either of them in outrage or left yet, which is a good sign.

As if growing bored by their shared nerves, Petra grabs Aloy by the back of her pants and pulls hard, so Aloy falls right into her lap. She puts her arms around Aloy’s tense middle, threading her fingers over Aloy’s stomach, and grins at the two of them rakishly.

“And I’m Petra. Glad we’re all introduced. Shall we compare birthdays next? Favorite foods? No? Right. We’ve got better things to do, don’t we?”

Rather than get angry, Tana smiles. She seems to like Petra’s bluntness, her sarcasm and Oseram sense of humor. Her body relaxes, becomes more languid. With little celebration and slow, sensuous movements, she begins to undress as Aloy and Petra watch. Her clothes are Meridian-style, overly complicated and layered with dozens of strings and ties. In less than a minute, she is completely naked but for the tiniest undergarment at her groin, preserving the very last of her modesty.

Aloy tries to keep her mouth shut so it doesn’t hang open like a fool. Tana is lovely. She watches hypnotically as the other girl approaches the bed and climbs on top to join them. When Aloy doesn’t immediately shrink back and blush at her proximity, Tana seems surprised, clearly remembering the last time they were so close, how Aloy had reacted to her dance.

Trying to calm her breathing and not just panic and bolt from the room, Aloy takes her time studying the girl in front of her. She is very beautiful. Her breasts are enormous and pale. Her nipples are light pink, like Petra’s, which turn a delightful shade of red after Aloy has spent some time with them.

Unlike either Aloy or Petra, Tana has no bulk to her, not even a hint of muscle. She is sleek and healthy, but Aloy suspects she’s never brought down a machine of any kind or forged metal or even strung a bow. It shows a vast difference in their lives, drawn in the art of their bodies—Aloy, tanned, muscled, scarred, Petra, thick-limbed, powerful, worn on the edges, and Tana, tall, slender, virtually flawless. She doesn’t even have hair on her legs. Who doesn’t have hair on their legs?

The light in the room is muted. The smell in the air of earthy flowers and musky incense makes Aloy dizzy, and she hasn’t even touched Tana yet. Realizing she can, and that she will, very soon, makes her heart thump hard in her chest, and her breath catch in her throat. She is already sweating.

Petra seems to notice the swell of her anxiety, and cups a hand over the back of her neck, turning her head around to kiss her soothingly, deeply. Aloy closes her eyes and falls into her familiarity with ease. She will never get tired of kissing Petra. She can feel her love in every stroke of her tongue, every suck of her lips. When she pulls away, Tana is watching them with obvious desire in her eyes.

“You okay?” Petra murmurs in Aloy’s burning ear, low enough that Tana will not hear. She kisses Aloy’s earlobe, the sensitive skin below it, nips lightly, then licks the red spot left behind. “We can leave if you want. This is for you. No matter what, I love you.” The arms around Aloy’s waist squeeze tightly in a tender hug.

Aloy melts. Hearing those three words always makes her heart race and fills her with affection. “I love you,” she breathes back, and is deliriously happy she is here, with the woman she loves, trying new things, knowing she is safe in her curiosities. Petra will never judge her, never criticize or demean her.

She will tease, though. But that is Petra, and Aloy wouldn’t change her for anything.

“I want to stay,” she says.

Waiting patiently for them to sort things out, Tana straightens to attention as they turn to regard her. She smiles at them, unabashed in her nakedness, despite Aloy and Petra still being entirely clothed. She bites her lip as her eyes trace Aloy’s body, pressing her balled hands into the juncture her hips as if to relieve some sort of pressure there. Watching her squirm, Aloy realizes the other girl is aroused, probably anticipating her touch. The thought brings a surge of heat to her veins. She feels a hunter in the wilds again, on the scent, and Tana is her very willing prey.

Aloy dives right in, before her nerves can possibly reappear, and presses her mouth to Tana’s firmly. Tana makes a noise against her lips, surprised by her boldness, and Aloy can hear Petra chuckling softly in the background. Knowing she is there, watching them, makes the hair on the back of Aloy’s nape stand on end.

Tana runs her hands over Aloy’s neck and shoulders, squeezing appreciatively at the hard muscle there, fingers tracing the scars on her bared forearms, kissing Aloy softly and sweetly, easing the rigid tension from her mouth until Aloy is kissing her back just as gently. Their tongues touch, and Aloy shivers. It is so entirely different from the way Petra kisses her, and for a moment she doesn’t know how to think or feel. A part of her is still holding back, defiant, sure she is doing something wrong by kissing someone who isn’t Petra, but Petra is here, she is with Aloy, and she wants this too.

As they kiss, Tana gradually twists and leans back until she is lying down on the bed and Aloy is propped atop her, her clothed pelvis cradled between Tana's naked thighs. Her bare breasts push and rub against Aloy’s front, nipples catching on Aloy’s armor and the animal skins beneath. Tana hisses at the rough friction and rubs harder. The temperature in the room soars.

A hand touches the small of Aloy’s back. She flinches in surprise, pulls away from Tana’s wet mouth, but it’s just Petra, kneeling on the bed behind Aloy. Before she can speak—apologize, beg, whichever—Petra ducks forward and kisses her. She licks all around her mouth, as if stealing a taste of Tana for herself, and makes a pleased little _hmmm_.

“Let’s take that armor off,” she says, and Aloy cannot agree more. She gets to her knees and starts tearing at the catches and buckles. Petra chuckles again and helps her undress while Tana watches, a light blush visible on her pale face, the rosy pink color flushing down her neck all the way to her heaving breasts.

When Aloy is naked as the girl beneath her, she kisses Petra quickly and then leans forward, catching Tana’s open mouth in her own with renewed fervor. Tana is breathless and gasping before Aloy decides to move lower. She spends a great deal of time on Tana’s breasts, gently squeezing them in her hands, marveling at their pillowy softness, their sheer size. Though large, they are still sensitive, her nipples erect, Tana arching and gasping when Aloy sucks them into her mouth or licks around their circumference, kissing at the tender undersides.

Aloy’s hunger mounts, and she sinks lower, Tana spreading her legs encouragingly. Aloy pulls off her tiny underthings—as well as her own—and pushes Tana’s pale thighs further apart, and then truly falters for the first time that night. Tana has no hair down there. At all. Shocked at the unimpeded sight of glistening, dark pink folds, she feels herself turn bright red.

Noticing Aloy’s balk, Petra peeks over Aloy’s shoulder and huffs a warm breath against her neck. “You Meridian-folk _would_ still wax,” she jokes, and Tana, far from embarrassed, laughs with her.

“I think I’ve frightened our poor hero,” she murmurs, reaching up to touch Aloy’s heated cheek. Aloy blinks, still a bit stunned, and realizes she hasn’t moved for a few seconds.

Before the two of them can collude to humiliate Aloy further, she snaps out of her haze and boldly touches Tana between her legs, making the other girl gasp. She is wet already, and warm, and so incredibly smooth. There is almost not friction at all, Aloy’s fingers slippery with just a single brush. Without any hair to get in the way, Aloy can see everything. She wants to see more.

She sinks between Tana’s spread thighs and licks a broad stripe across her wet folds. Tana is only the second woman Aloy has ever tasted. She is sweeter than Petra, who is all metal and musk, and lighter. It’s odd without the hair there, as Aloy is used to, and prefers, but it’s far from unpleasant, just different, and new. Tana sighs when Aloy eases a finger inside of her, then another, and where Petra could take more, and harder, always harder, she seems content with slow, gentle strokes.

There’s a distant sigh, and Aloy turns her head without stopping what she’s doing just enough to see Petra similarly working a hand between her own legs, forearm flexing where it disappears into her clothing, teeth caught on her lower lip. Aloy stifles a gasp and squeezes her thighs together, hard, before refocusing on Tana with renewed intensity. Tana is so wet now the sound of Aloy’s fingers piercing her fills the room, and the smell of her mixes with the incense and makes Aloy’s blood sear in her veins.

Aloy flicks her tongue over Tana’s swollen bud and the other girl shudders delicately, breathing fast, sweat shining across her breasts and soft belly in the dim light. Long, delicate fingers thread into Aloy’s thick hair, pressing her closer, and Aloy moves her tongue faster, sucking, kissing. Tana is wet and sticky all the way to her thighs, dripping down to form a small puddle on the bed, fragrant beads rolling off Aloy’s knuckles to her wrist. Aloy curls her fingers as she knows Petra always likes, and presses just a bit harder than before, and Tana near jolts off the bed with a shuddering moan.

When she comes, Tana lets out a high-pitched cry, back bowing, ribcage jutting out beneath her trembling breasts. She collapses afterwards with a long breath, and Aloy cleans her up with slow laps of her tongue before sitting up and sucking the rest off her fingers. Tana is sprawled across the bed, boneless, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath, and Aloy feels accomplished and dizzy and hopelessly aroused. She also knows she is far from done.

As if reading her mind, Aloy hears a clunk and turns to find Petra off the bed, going through the travelpack they’d brought with them to Meridian. She withdraws her little ‘weapon’ that Aloy has grown quite attached to, the leather harness gone darker over the years, the metal shaft gleaming in the light of the lanterns. Petra has worked on her weapon many since creating it, fixing things here or there and shortening or lengthening parts, tinkering until she claims it to be as close to perfect as she can get. The metal isn’t so heavy, no longer dragging down off Aloy’s hips, and curves more. Petra has even found a way to create subtle bumps and twists in the shaft for added texture. Aloy wears it like another limb, the way she wields her other weapons of bow and spear. It has become a part of her.

Aloy dons the shaft without a word and stands, trembling, as Petra helps her with the buckles. The humor has fled from Petra’s eyes, gone dark with lust. The only time Petra doesn’t tease her is when they have rushed far past foreplay and fallen headlong into passion and bliss and heat. Aloy hasn’t even touched Petra yet, but the older woman appears uncharacteristically quiet and flustered. She tightens the last strap, squeezes Aloy’s muscular bottom, and kisses her still gasping mouth, sampling Tana’s unique flavor with a pleased sound. Aloy almost staggers, letting Petra lick her open mouth, her sticky chin. This is the most intimate thing they’ve ever done, and she can’t believe how lucky she is to have her.

On the bed, Tana shifts, apparently recovered from her climax. She sits up when she sees what Aloy is wearing, curious.

Petra squeezes Aloy’s bottom again. “I love you,” she whispers into her mouth, and Aloy trembles and nods before getting on the bed on her knees. She tries to get back on top of Tana, and is surprised when the other girl stops her, grabbing the metal shaft so firmly Aloy freezes in place with an audible, “ _Erk_.”

“Haven’t seen one of these before,” Tana muses. “At least, not one so nice.”

Naturally, Petra beams with pride at the compliment, and visibly restrains herself from launching into a detailed explanation of exactly how it was made, piece by piece.

Aloy would make fun of her, maybe get a little revenge, if Tana didn’t still have an intimidating grip on her shaft. Before she can try to take charge again, Tana suddenly sits up and pushes Aloy back, until she is the one reclining against the pillows with Tana leaning above her. Aloy gulps.

“Allow me to show my appreciation to the hero,” Tana says, her thumb skimming over the ridged tip of the metal shaft, back and forth. “I’m here to serve.” She kisses Aloy, but doesn’t linger, trailing her mouth lower to her breasts. Aloy knows they’re small and probably not the best, even though Petra loves them. Clearly, Tana shares the sentiment, taking Aloy’s nipples into her mouth and biting them gently. She spends awhile on Aloy’s stomach, as if fascinated by the muscle she finds there, following the ridges and dips downwards with the point of her tongue.

Finally, she arrives at the crux of Aloy’s thighs, and the curved metal jutting between them. Without hesitation, she swallows Aloy down in one smooth stroke. Her nose touches Aloy’s flat stomach, and Aloy is the one who abruptly can’t breathe. Even Petra seems impressed, her eyebrows disappearing into the mussed fringe of her hair. Her smile is broad and dirty.

“I like this one,” she says, joining them on the bed to kiss Aloy on her slack mouth. She’s gotten ahold of her roiling desire, and is her old, teasing self again. “Not as much as you, Nora-girl. Don’t worry.” She runs her lips down Aloy’s chin and throat to her collarbone, licks her bite-marked breasts on the way down, and similarly follows the line of her muscles down her belly to her hips, where Tana is still attached, sucking audibly at her. Aloy can feel the subtle tugs, the working of her mouth. She even imagines she can feel the sweep of Tana’s hot tongue as it slips playfully around the shaft. Her toes curl.

With a wet pop, Tana releases the shaft from her warm mouth. Petra, who is kneeling beside her now, grins at her wickedly and leans in for a kiss that is all tongue and passion. Aloy watches and sweats. Tana is breathless by the time Petra finishes with her, looking the slightest bit dizzy, her lips swollen from abuse. Petra drops her own flushed mouth between Aloy’s hips, taking the shaft not so deep as Tana, but enough to make Aloy grunt. After a dizzying moment where Aloy struggles to remember how to make her lungs work, Petra pulls off, and her and Tana come to a certain understanding.

Every time one of them retreats from the shaft, the other advances, and vice versa. Taking turns, they lick and suck at the metal, the wetness their tongues leave behind glistening in the muted light. Other than her fleeting urges, Aloy has never seriously considered the appeal of having more than one lover at the same time—now, she fully understands. Feeling the push and pull of their mouths, the pressure as they swallow her down and the suck as they retreat, has her dangerously close to climax after not even a minute.

Mercifully, they stop before she is reduced to a twitching wreck on the bed. Tana climbs atop Aloy while Petra reclines on the pillows like some resplendent Sun Queen. “Try to give me a good show,” she says, winking at Aloy, completely unabashed with her own desires. She is still entirely dressed, which Aloy finds somewhat absurd, but also arousing. Like Petra is completely in charge. Untouchable.

Looming above, Tana pins Aloy in place and sinks down on the shaft with a loud moan, clearly appreciating all the hard work Petra has done with the metal. She pauses, as if to get used to the feel of it inside her, and then begins to slowly ride Aloy with long strokes of her hips. Her breasts bounce enticingly, but it’s all Aloy can do to hold her by the hips and not shatter apart.

It is, for lack of a better word, pure torture. Aloy rides the edge of a vicious climax, at the mercy of the girl atop her, who seems content to drag this out as long as possible, when all Aloy wants is to grab her by the sides and slam into her until they both break. It is incredibly difficult not to, made harder by Petra beside her, eyes low-lidded, lips quirked.

“Aloy,” Petra says, after the third time Aloy has forced herself to stop gripping Tana so hard, and laid back rigidly against the pillows. At the sound of her name, Aloy whimpers. She really does not want to be teased right now, when it is taking everything she has to stay calm. The slick sounds of Tana’s wet folds dragging up the shaft and her soft moans are absolutely maddening.

“Aloy,” Petra repeats, a little louder, and Aloy haltingly turns her head to look at her. Petra has that glaze in her eyes again, a tense, voracious hunger. “It’s okay.”

Confused, Aloy holds her breath, trying to understand what Petra is saying. “Wuh—?” she gets out, before Tana comes down a little harder than before on the shaft, making Aloy clench.

“It’s okay, Aloy,” Petra says, her voice husky, strained. “It’s okay.”

What’s okay? Aloy doesn’t understand. What does Petra mean by—?

It dawns.

Petra _wants_ Aloy to snap. Wants Aloy to lose control, and seize command, and drive into Tana like some sort of beast. She can tell Aloy is painfully keeping herself in check, refusing to allow her true power to come surging forward, not wanting to scare or even possibly hurt Tana. Petra can and has handled everything Aloy has ever thrown at her. Can Tana?

Aloy gulps and looks up. Above her, Tana’s head is thrown back, her arms propped behind her to help her body lift and fall off the metal shaft connecting them. Her face is pink, mouth open. Through slitted lids, she meets Aloy’s, and in them, Aloy sees trust, and passion, and just the slightest hint of a challenge.

And that's it. With a snarl—and a surprised squeal from Tana—Aloy suddenly upends the other girl so their positions are reversed, muscles primed and flexed. She pulls out while Tana gasps in protest, then rolls Tana onto her knees so she can take her from behind, pushing back in with a glide smooth as silk. Tana keens like a cat in heat, arching her back and burying her face in the bed. Aloy seizes her by the hips with a punishing grip and immediately pounds away. Tana can’t seem to catch her breath, her face and neck turning bright red under the onslaught. A constant stream of gasps and moans leave her mouth, tiny cries chasing each quick, ragged breath.

Aloy glances beside her, sees Petra watching, her hand once again disappeared between her legs, and ruts harder, losing herself almost entirely. Distantly, she hopes she isn’t hurting Tana, but knows Petra will stop her at the first sign of discomfort from the other girl. Aloy gets this way with Petra, sometimes. Usually before a big hunt, or a journey away, or after returning from one. A fever claims her, and won’t lift until she takes Petra with all the strength in her body.

“Ahh! _Ahh!_ ” Tana tries to push back against Aloy, fails, and then climaxes abruptly, going still as Aloy continues to thrust away. A hand touches the small of her jerking back, and Aloy feels the callused fingers, the warmth of Petra’s skin, and comes so hard everything goes white and silent.

When she is aware of her surroundings again, she finds herself draped over a semi-conscious Tana, similarly dazed. Hopefully Aloy did not scare her too badly with such a brutal display.

She hears a whimper and looks up. It’s Petra. Aloy has never seen her so worked up in her life. She’s ripping her clothes off in a frenzied rush, her body tense, shoulders high. Naked, she rolls Aloy off Tana and removes the harness and shaft from between her legs, dropping it to the floor. Beneath, Aloy’s dark red pubic hair is plastered down with a combination of sweat and her own musky wetness, her folds drenched and swollen.

Petra dives in. Aloy is over stimulated and cries out at the first touch of her tongue, but doesn’t stop Petra as she feasts upon her like a starving person. She licks and sucks greedily, wet, messy noises filling the room. Aloy is startled to feel herself rouse and prepare for another climax so soon after her first, and then suddenly she’s there, her body clenching, every muscle in her torso, arms and legs standing out in high relief.

Then, after they have all somewhat recovered, Petra takes the harness, and has a turn with Tana while Aloy lays against the headboard for a well-deserved rest. It’s different, she realizes, watching Petra be with someone when she isn’t actually with _her_. At first, she feels the slightest twinge of jealousy the moment Petra’s hand lands on Tana’s skin, but it fades quickly under an overpowering surge of arousal. Usually, when Petra touches her, Aloy can barely keep her head on straight. She doesn’t pay attention to the little things.

Now, removed from the… activities, Aloy can see the way Petra’s body flexes and bows, the thick muscles in her back standing out, the hidden power of her hips and legs. Petra takes Tana face to face, the Meridian girl below her, pace slow and steady, kissing her deeply until they are both gasping, moving together in a seamless dance. Aloy stares where their hips meet, sees how the metal disappears between Tana’s thighs and reemerges even wetter than before. Slick slaps fill the air, covering the sounds of their labored breathing.

Aloy looks up, and is surprised to find Petra staring directly at her. She may be thrusting into the girl beneath her, but Aloy is the one she watches. Gazes fastened, Aloy’s breathing picks up, and she touches herself, flinching at her own tenderness, how swollen she is. Petra’s eyes drop to follow the movements of her hand with an undeniable hunger. _You’re next_ , her face says.

Aloy can’t wait.

The rest of the evening is a blur of skin and sweat and heat. Every kiss from one of the women tastes of the other. At certain points, Aloy can’t tell who is touching her, or who she is touching. Petra, true to her word, has her turn with Aloy, the metal digging deliciously deep into her, already twice-wet from Tana. While Aloy is taken, Tana kneels above her head so Aloy can taste her, until they all come to a gripping, bone-watering finish.

Finally, they collapse in exhaustion, spent, and sleep like the dead. Tana is content to curl up on one side of the bed, snoring delicately the moment her head hits the pillow. Petra spoons Aloy from behind and breathes slow and steady against the back of her neck, but not before kissing her gently on the nape and murmuring, “Love you, Nora-girl.”

Aloy is quiet, thinking for a time as the others slumber. She is unspeakably happy in that moment. Throughout the course of the evening, she has never felt so loved. Petra has given her a wonderful gift, and Aloy is forever grateful. To have found someone who understands her so well, who can see her heart and its inner workings and who loves her for it, is remarkable. She is so overcome she fights back tears for a minute before swallowing it down. Feeling Petra breathing evenly behind her, Aloy closes her own eyes and joins her in sleep.

The journey back to Free Heap is slow. Aloy is sore for a day or two, Petra frisky and teasing. They double-up on Chargers or Striders when they tire of walking, take short detours to visit small villages or settlements along the way to see if anything is needed, or just to visit the shops and talk to the people, and enjoy their time together.

In Free Heap, everyone is happy to see them back. Kaeluf takes up the call when they near the outskirts, and everyone clusters at the gate to greet them. Baladga asks how their trip went, and Jorgriz questions how they spent their time in Meridian. Aloy struggles not to blush, vivid memories already rearing in her mind. Petra just chuckles at them all like a doting mother and hands out several trinkets or rare machine parts they’d gathered along the way.

They feast at the communal campfire that night and tell stories, new and old. Baladga and Jorgriz’s two-year-old son, Dabso, sits in Aloy’s lap and plays with the sleeve of her armor, babbling newly learned words and nonsense sounds. The only child in Free Heap, he is the town pride, and everyone fights for a turn with him, trying to get him to say their name, though he hasn’t progressed much farther than “Ma,” or “Da,” and other single syllable words. Aloy thinks he will start talking more soon, stringing words together into sentences, as long as everyone stops bothering him so much to get on with it.

Their bedroll in the forge is soft and familiar and smells like home. Once they lie down, they kiss for awhile, neither feeling particularly needful to go further, satisfied with simply being close. She and Petra sleep soundly, curled around each other, warm and in love.

A week passes. Aloy hunts alone or accompanies the others to supply food for the town, while Petra spends her time on her heavy weapons, working on new designs and ideas. Aloy has been considering a journey back east, not all the way to Nora lands, but to the ruins near the mountains. It’s been some time since she’s explored them, and she wants to take another look. In all, it will take maybe eight or nine days, but Petra has already declined joining her, trusting Aloy will be safe by herself. Aloy likes that they can be apart and still love each other so strongly. Petra will always wait for her, so Aloy will always come back.

The night before she plans to leave, there is a violent thunderstorm. Rain is rare in Free Heap, so when it comes, it comes hard, and after only an hour, streams are running right through the town, and everyone has to scramble to save things so they don’t get washed away. Eventually, the rain stops, though the storm only seems to grow in intensity. The air turns hot and thick. The thunder is deafening. The lightning is worse. Even Aloy balks, and stays inside the forge with Petra, watching through the open door as the night sky lights up like magic, searing white veins shooting across the black clouds. When the thunder comes, it makes Aloy’s teeth vibrate and rattle in her skull. Even Petra seems nervous, gnawing at her thumbnail as her eyes flick back and forth across the sky.

The storm lulls for a minute or two, and Aloy almost relaxes, and then the entire town is shaking as if Hades itself has returned to seek revenge. It sounds like a bomb has gone off. It’s not just the storm anymore—someone or something is attacking them. The ground shudders, and Aloy actually hears a smaller structure collapse nearby with a clunking groan.

Alarmed, she and Petra bolt from the forge into chaos, shouting for the others. Dust and smoke billows everywhere. Citizens of Free Heap are running amok. Aloy has thrown on her armor and found her spear, ready to face whatever man or machine has dared threaten her home.

To her shock, it’s the Behemoth herd. A dozen or more machines, by Aloy’s rough count, but it’s dark and dust rises like dark clouds under the Behemoths' gigantic feet. They are stampeding in a frenzy of terror and panic, spooked by the ferocious storm raging above. Thunder rumbles anew, and the Behemoths bellow in reply. One bashes straight into Kaeluf’s hut, shattering it like an egg. Thankfully, it’s already empty, since Kaeluf had guard duty that night, but Aloy knows they have to do something fast, before someone is seriously hurt.

Petra takes charge immediately, shouting orders, grabbing people who’ve fallen to help them stand, sending those who are able to protect the stockpile of power cells, because if those explode, they’re done for. Knowing Petra can handle herself, Aloy darts into the madness to try and calm the herd. A touch of her Focus lets her vision pierce through the dark, and she sees the brightly lit outlines of the Behemoths running to and fro.

She manages to Override and send away only a single Behemoth before disaster strikes. The storm, roaring like a dozen Thunderjaws a moment ago, falls eerily silent and still. Aloy feels a sudden charge, her hair lifting off her scalp, and then a bright white bolt of lightning splits the sky apart, reaching down from the blackness above, and strikes one of the Behemoths in the head. The machine’s front end explodes instantly, raining flaming chunks of metal and wire. The freeze canister and power cell on its back explode simultaneously a second later, causing a second, even more powerful shockwave.

Aloy is flung back, her Shield-Weaver armor giving a warning chirp. The lightning strike was so close her skin is sizzling. It feels like her head has been stuffed with cloth, and sounds are muffled, backed with a high-pitched whine. Her Focus has stopped working. Aloy hopes it is not irreparably damaged. She stands and finds her dropped spear. If she dies tonight, she will not do so empty-handed.

She stumbles about and trips over someone. It’s Baladga, facedown, probably hurt, or maybe just knocked unconscious. Her ears clear somewhat, and she hears Jorgriz shouting somewhere to her left, calling for his wife. Aloy shouts that she has her, then picks Baladga up and whistles, high and sharp, calling for her Overridden steed waiting outside the village. Hopefully it has not fled or been destroyed in the mayhem.

Snorting and stamping, the Strider arrives. Though it is still under her control, it seems to be struggling to obey her, as though every instinct it has in the tiny chip it calls a brain is telling it to run. Aloy slings Baladga over its back just as Jorgriz appears. There is some blood on his shoulder, and his clothes are singed and dirty.

“I can’t find Dabso!” he cries, bereft, and Aloy feels a bolt of pure panic. A roiling storm above, panicked Behemoths below, and now a lost child? What else can possibly go wrong?

She leaves Jorgriz to watch over his wife and the Strider and plunges into the mayhem to look for the child. Jorgriz’s house is still standing, so she checks there first, quickly, but it’s empty. She casts about, scared and angry, wanting to fight the machines and push them away, but knowing she must first—

A child’s cry pierces the night. Aloy’s head snaps around. It’s Dabso, crying as only a two-year old can, dark red face streaked with tears and snot. He’s near the town center, frozen as Behemoths thunder around him pell-mell. None of the crazed beasts pay him mind, ramming into each other or buildings like small avalanches. At any moment, he could be trampled and killed.

She goes for him, legs pumping, snatching him into her arms and shouting for Jorgriz. The panicked man appears, leading the Strider carrying his wife. Aloy gives him Dabso, who just screeches louder, then helps him onto the machine and sends it galloping out of the town and away from danger, giving it a hard slap on the rump to get it moving.

It appears most of the citizens of Free Heap have escaped, but now Aloy has to get the herd away from the town itself. Otherwise, they will leave behind nothing but a flattened ruin. But how does she snap them out of their terrified stupor? She only has so many arrows.

“Aloy!” It’s Petra, her bare arms and face streaked with dirt. She’s lost her headcloth and her hair is a mess, but she appears unharmed. Propped on either shoulder are two of her massive heavy weapons. She carries them as if they weigh nothing, then muscles them down and gives one to Aloy, keeping the other for herself. “We have to get them away from the forge, and the power cells. Otherwise, we’re ruined. Ready?”

Aloy nods, relieved her lover is all right, and ready to stand beside her to defend her home. She’d kiss her if there was time. Petra flashes her a look filled with  emotion—love, worry, trust, fear—and then fires up her weapon. Aloy does the same, taking small comfort in the feel of the metal heating up and beginning to shake with energy in her hands.

They aim with purpose and shoot at the Behemoth’s feet, taking care not to enrage the beasts any more than necessary, just trying to drive them back, further and further from the town. Aloy’s arms and torso are tight and aching after only a few minutes, the weapon kicking back against her like a bucking Charger every time she fires. Beside her, Petra’s face is set and determined, but grim. There is not telling how much damage the Behemoths have already done. Still, they must save what they can.

Again and again, they fire, driving the confused herd, which has gathered into a roiling group, to the outskirts of Free Heap. Once they get a little further, they can scare them off for good, but just as they reach the very edge of the town, Petra falters. Her heavy weapon has run out of ammunition. She swears and casts about for more, but they are too far from the forge and the explosive shells stockpiled there. Aloy steps in front of her, trying to keep the herd contained by herself, but they are growing angry now, and her weapon can only cover so much ground. Taking deliberate steps, she circles around the machines, firing again and again, and then stops, and takes aim.

The bullet strikes the biggest Behemoth directly in the face and explodes, blowing off several pieces and knocking it back with a stunned roar. Instantly, every light on its body, which has been glowing an uncertain yellow, turns a furious red. Flames lick the bottom of its heavy jaw. It groans at her, and all the other remaining Behemoths turn and focus on Aloy with terrifying intensity. The storm doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve found a new enemy.

With care, Aloy puts down her heavy weapon, the herd watching her the entire time. All of their lights have gone red.

“Aloy!” shouts Petra. She looks a second from running over to protect her, but then they would both die, and Aloy refuses to let that happen, so she does the only thing she can.

She hopes Petra will forgive her, and then turns and runs.

Exactly as she expects, the herd follows. She has absolutely no hope to outrun an entire herd of massive machines, but all she needs to do is keep them running in any direction that is not toward Free Heap. She knows a spot nearby where there is a sheer cliff, and if she is lucky she can rappel down and away from the herd before they trample her. First, though, she needs to make it there.

Chased by thunder, lightning, and a dozen frenzied Behemoths, she runs into the night. The ground is slick here, gone muddy from the torrential rain, and she fights to keep her feet. The herd is already gaining. They will kill her if they catch her, armor be damned. It’s hard to see in the dark, but she thinks perhaps she has gotten close to the drop-off, and maybe—

There! She sees the branch, and the yellow rope wrapped around it. Without thought, she goes for the cliff and jumps. In mid-air, she twists around and flings the hook from her belt, catching the branch and feeling the jerk and ease of gravity as she begins to rappel down. When she looks down, it’s black, the ground hidden in the gloom of night. She can’t remember how high the cliff is. Will she have enough rope, or will she run out and fall to her death?

There is a rocky crash, and she looks up. While the rest of the herd has continued on their blind charge away from Free Heap as she hoped, one has foolishly followed her over the edge of the cliff. As it tumbles, it breaks the branch she is attached to, sending her into a free fall. The rope holding her goes slack. She has just enough time to scream.

Then the ground is there, rushing up to meet her. When she hits, her Shield-Weaver armor shrieks and immediately goes dead, lights flashing red before cutting out entirely, overloaded. As a result, her body takes about half of the brunt of her fall. She lands mostly on her feet, knees bending on impact, absorbing the force of her own weight. For a second she thinks she’s made it, and prepares herself to kick forward into a rolling dive, but then she hears a strange sound—like a muted, wet crunch—and her left thigh erupts in agony.

In a far-off, distant part of her brain, she realizes she’s broken her leg.

A second later, the screaming Behemoth lands in a screeching tangle of twisted metal and broken limbs. Its lights flicker and go out, the machine too damaged to move. It dies a moment later. Aloy is glad it didn’t explode, or simply land directly on top of her. Then the pain in her leg overwhelms her, and she passes out.

She wakes to a warm hand on her cheek and soft words in her ear. She inhales deeply, smells the familiar mixture of metal, fire, and musk, and knows she’s home, and safe.

“Petra,” she whispers, and feels her lover relax beside her and kiss her ear gently.

"My little fool,” Petra murmurs to her. “My reckless girl. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Aloy opens her eyes. She’s in their bedroll, back in the forge in Free Heap. Daylight streams through the open door, where she can hear the hustle and bustle of the people outside, cleaning up the mess from the night before.

Painstakingly, she sits up, and Petra props several rolled furs and pillows behind her. She’s practically naked, wearing her smallest shirt on top and only her underthings beneath, legs bare. All of her wounds have been tended to, dabbed with ointment or covered with small squares of cloth, and her left leg is splinted and wrapped up tight with pristine white bandages all the way from the top of her thigh to the narrowest part of her calf. It looks well done.

“Did you have to take my pants off?” she grumbles good-naturedly, even though her entire body is throbbing dully with forgotten aches and pains that grow stronger the longer she is awake.

“Don’t worry,” says Petra. “Only half the village saw your ass. The rest just heard about it.”

Aloy laughs, and then groans. Her leg throbs with every breath she takes. Before she can ask for them, Petra is already putting medicinal herbs from her bag to her mouth, and Aloy chews vigorously, anxious for relief. Though the herbs will help manage her injury, it won’t miraculously mend the broken bone. She will have to wait until it is healed properly.

“Matga set the bone,” says Petra, referring to Free Heap’s unofficial medic, a woman of about sixty who’d lived in Daytower for a time before deciding to come to Free Heap. “Said it was a clean break, at least, so it should heal fine, so long as you stay off it.”

“How long will it take?” A part of Aloy doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

“Six to eight weeks.”

Aloy fights not to sigh or maybe just weep. Six to eight weeks? Without moving? Without running, or hunting, or traveling? There’s no way. She’ll go mad. She knows she should be happy to be alive, to appreciate that a broken leg is the worst she got from a rabid herd of Behemoths, but it’s difficult. Then, she’s angry with herself, for being so selfish. Having to stay in Free Heap for two months means more time with Petra and the others. She loves Petra, and cares dearly for everyone in Free Heap, as if they are her extended family. This should be great news, not something to dread.

Still, she is disappointed, but tries not to show it, keeping her face blank. Petra knows her well, though, and murmurs, “It’ll seem a lot faster, I promise.”

Aloy doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t want to call Petra a liar.

Time _crawls_.

The days pass slowly, blurring into one another. For the first week, Aloy is gloomy and bitter. Petra carries her outside each morning and sets her on a chair she built herself positioned outside the forge, so Aloy can get some sun and watch the happenings of the town. Aloy mostly just glares off into the distance, too stubborn to do anything else. Her guts are in a constant knot of anxiety. Everything in her heart and body is screaming to be out in the wilds, not stuck in her chair. Free Heap does not seem free at all at the moment.

She nods when the others greet her as they pass by, but doesn’t attempt to make conversation. Everyone catches on quickly, giving her the space she wants and needs. Even Petra is subdued, her constant stream of dirty jokes or ribald stories conspicuously absent, leaving Aloy alone to stew while she works on her weapons or forges her molten metal, the ringing of her heavy hammer piercing the air all through the late afternoons. Aloy has always found the sound comforting. Now it irks her.

While the villagers eat their supper at the communal fire, Aloy stays inside the forge. She isn’t ready to play nice, to smile and laugh with the others as if everything is fine. On the first night, Petra tries to stay with her, and Aloy makes her leave. As the week passes by, Petra goes without protest, just a quiet, sad look, and always brings back a choice cut of turkey or boar or rabbit for Aloy in apology. Aloy doesn’t have much of an appetite these days, but she’s not stupid, and eats her fill no matter how much her stomach protests.

Angry as she is with the situation, Aloy can’t deny her lover the comfort of lying close at her side every night to fall asleep. Petra is gentle with her, not wanting to accidentally knock her still-tender leg or roll over onto it during the night. Aloy sleeps restlessly, fitfully. She has nightmares. One night, she dreams of Rost dying all over again, and wakes in the dark hours of the morning, and stays awake until Petra stirs, hours later. When Petra asks how she slept, she just puts her head on her lover’s shoulder and cries very quietly. It’s over fast, only a few minutes or so, but she feels slightly better afterwards. Lighter.

Thankfully, Aloy is not a complete invalid. She can still dress herself, and wash without much trouble, though Petra is certainly eager to help wipe her down every morning. Aloy only humors her a few times—she doesn’t want Petra getting spoiled. Otherwise, they don’t touch. Aloy doesn’t feel particularly attractive, nor lustful. She isn’t sure when she will be. Petra, who has always had a voracious sexual appetite, doesn’t complain, and seems perfectly content to hold her in their bed and kiss her quickly but sweetly every morning.

By the second week, things are a bit better. Aloy doesn’t like Petra carrying her around—and Petra likes it way too much—so she’s learned to hobble or hop about with the help of a wooden crutch—carved by Kaeluf, who looks miserable with Aloy’s injury, as does everyone else in Free Heap. After a full day of using it, she’s grown used to the odd, jogging motion, and can keep up with any able-bodied townsperson, and nobody stares or comments. Aloy doesn’t want the rest of her body to waste away while her broken leg heals, determined to keep what little strength she has, so she makes sure to shuffle several times around the town each day.

As she makes her stuttering, strenuous circuits, she is finally able to survey the damage the Behemoths caused the night of the storm. Huts are down across the town, half a dozen of them. The forge itself was rammed on the south side, the wall crumbling inwards, but stopped just shy of collapsing. Petra already has several men working on it. The protective walls around Free Heap took the worst of the damage. About three-fourths have been destroyed, but in the end, not one person died, and they didn’t lose a single power cell, which combined is a near miracle.

The third week arrives. Aloy is surprised to find that she is no longer counting the hours, or the agonizing minutes since her injury. She doesn’t follow a set routine, as she thought she might when she first imagined how she could possibly spend all her free time, instead wandering the town as she pleases, helping people here and there if she’s able, chatting with Kaeluf or sitting with him during guard duty, passing along baked bricks to help build the walls back up, skinning and cleaning the fresh meat caught by hunters or Jorgriz or Baladga. The work is simple and straightforward. She doesn’t have to think, just do. It’s nice. Good. She finds she doesn’t feel so angry anymore.

Has she ever stayed in a single place so long, she wonders sometimes, late at night when she can’t sleep or when she’s wrist deep in a dead turkey, hands filled with bloody, slippery guts. Even as a child, she was constantly on the move, racing in and out of Rost’s hut, spending hours on end climbing cliffs and trees all over Nora land, leaping over gullies and streams, training endlessly for the Proving or experimenting with her newfound Focus. Later, after Rost had taught her to hunt, she’d traveled deep into the nearby forests and mountains, looking for machines she’d never seen before, always hungry for more knowledge. Sometimes she wouldn’t make it back before nightfall, and would be forced to camp by herself in a small cave or under a downed tree, half-terrified of being so small and alone, half-thrilled by her own brave stupidity.

Every few days, Matga will come to check on Aloy’s splints and bandage. Aloy’s other injuries have healed, most of them superficial at best, but the leg still hurts most of the time, aching deeply, where Aloy guesses the break is. Sometimes it itches, too, deep under the thick roll of bandages, the bones slowly knitting themselves back together. If Aloy had a machine leg, it would take only a few hours of tinkering before she was good as new. Petra could probably slap one together in a day, then spend a couple more figuring out how to put a weapon in it. The thought makes her laugh aloud for the first time in a good while.

The restlessness surging in her veins gradually eases, and she learns to find pleasure in the little things. Her Focus takes only a few hour’s work before it is working properly. She tests it on high-flying Glinthawks and a stray herd of Striders until she is satisfied that the lightning has left no lasting damage. Then, wanting something simple to do, she cleans and services every one of her weapons—she has many—checking bowstrings and arrowheads and the state of her ropecaster and slings. Then she goes through her armors. The Shield-Weaver’s battery has reset, offering its valuable protection once more.

Several days a week, she plays with Dabso, discovering all the ways she can make the precocious child laugh—there are many—and babysits while Baladga—who ended up with a nasty bump on her head from the attack but nothing else—and Jorgriz travel outside the town to make sure the Behemoth herd keeps their distance and to see if they can hunt some dinner. Petra joins her sometimes.

“Up! Up!” Dabso demands, and Petra grabs him under the armpits and throws him straight into the air, catching him as he falls, over and over until he is a red-faced, giggling mess. In the afternoon, he curls up for a nap with his face smushed against Aloy’s unbroken thigh, gone to the world. Petra sits beside Aloy, a warm, heavy arm stretched across her shoulders. They both watch the child sleep.

“Did you ever want children?” Aloy asks, curious. It occurs to her she's never considered how she'd feel if it turned out Petra had already had children at some point in her life. It's entirely possible. Petra is quiet. She looks at Dabso with fondness in her eyes and a smile on her face, but nothing deeper. No longing, or regret.

“Nah,” says Petra. Aloy is slightly surprised. “Too busy for that.” She jerks her head toward her forge, the heavy weapons and their multiple parts decorating the roof. “ _Those_ are my babies. They’re like kids, if you think about it. First you create them. Then you have to take care of them. Nurture them. And then, after you’ve watched them grow up big and strong, and you see what they can do… There’s nothing better. So, if you think about it, I’m already a proud parent.” She looks away, and asks casually, “You?”

To be honest, Aloy has never truly considered it. As a child, she was perpetually lonely, bitter, sad, and angry. Rost had managed to distract her from the worst of the dark feelings with his lessons and teachings and fatherly affections, but still, they’d worked their way deep into Aloy’s heart. Though she is an outcast no longer, she is tentative to even think of bringing a child into a world where they could potentially share the same future if they accidentally broke some long forgotten law—or worse, to bring them to a world where they are worshiped for being the child of Aloy, the hero. She doesn’t know which one she dreads more.

Besides, if she wanted a child of her own flesh and blood, she’d need to lie with a man, hopefully only once or twice, but she really, really didn’t want to do that. Petra, no doubt, would find glee in it somewhere. She’d probably even want to “help.” Aloy sinks further under Petra’s arm just thinking about it.

“No,” she says, and then pauses. “I mean, maybe if there was a child who’d lost their parents, and needed someone, and if I thought I could do it. Maybe then.”

Petra doesn’t say anything. She knows Aloy’s story. The arm on Aloy’s shoulder tightens a little, pulling her closer.

Aloy is one month into her two-month sabbatical when she feels a stirring of a different kind. She has joined Petra on the roof of the forge to watch her piece together a new heavy weapon, one that shoots finger thick metal bolts in a dazzling flurry, each attached on the end to a metal wire, sort of like Aloy’s ropecaster, only this weapon delivers a violent charge of electricity on command, theoretically disabling whatever machine has been trapped in its hooks.

The sun is hot, the wind practically nonexistent, and Petra’s arms and upper back shine with sweat under the harsh glare. She keeps wiping at her forehead with a gloved hand as beads of sweat roll from the fringe of her hair, cheeks flushed but eyes focused on her task. Making sure the weapon gives the proper charge of electricity is tricky, and Petra zapped herself a day ago so badly one of her fingers turned black. When Aloy asked if it would fall off, and then joked that it was her favorite one, Petra laughed so hard she forgot all about the pain.

Aloy knows she is a strong girl, has the muscles and the machine trophies to prove it, but Petra is stronger. She slings her absurdly massive weapons about as if they weigh nothing, forges molten metal from dawn to dusk, and, during the reconstruction of Free Heap’s outer wall, carried some of the biggest loads of material on her back, keeping up with the very best of the men. She is taller than Aloy, broader, but softer, too. Aloy's edges are sharp where Petra's are rounded and worn. She has a dexterity matched by Aloy’s own, honed from tinkering with the tiniest and most delicate of machine parts. Watching the subtle twitches of muscles in her forearms and even her hands as she works makes Aloy swallow, throat suddenly gone dry.

How long has it been since those hands were last upon her? Weeks, for sure. Aloy feels a sharp, sudden pang of need, but does her best to stifle it. It’s barely mid-morning. She can’t just drag Petra back into the forge, hobbling along on her little crutch, simply because she’s only now realized how much she missed touching her. She’d neglected Petra, too bitter to even think her lover might long for her touch, though she knows Petra would never agree, not wanting Aloy to feel badly.

By the time everyone has finished eating their warm supper hours later—Aloy joins them again most nights, and is glad for the distraction of good food and good people—Aloy can’t keep still. She shifts in her seat, taps her unencumbered foot, and picks at the bandage on her splinted leg, pulling at the stray white fibers until Matga smacks her hand and tells her to stop. Petra looks over at her curiously, and Aloy gets up quickly—or, as quickly as she can with a half-healed femur—says a blunt goodnight to everyone, and hops her way to the forge.

Barely a minute later, Petra joins her. Usually, the other woman can read Aloy like a keen hunter reads fresh machine tracks in wet mud, but she seems cautious tonight, standing hesitantly in the doorway, as if unsure to enter her own abode without permission.

“You okay?” she asks, and then walks over to sit with Aloy on their bedroll. “Aloy?”

In answer, Aloy seizes her by the thick straps of her shirt and pulls hard. Petra squawks and lands strangely over Aloy, desperately hovering with splayed arms and legs as she tries not to put any weight on Aloy’s broken limb. Aloy laughs at the look on her face, and kisses her.

“I missed you,” she breathes into her mouth. Petra returns the kiss tentatively, then shuffles over until she is lying on Aloy’s other side, away from her splinted leg.

"I missed you too, Nora-girl,” she whispers, and they kiss languidly for long minutes until Aloy is rubbing her body impatiently against Petra’s. She wants their clothes off _now_. Her leg makes even sitting up awkward, but she doesn’t care, using her strong abdomen to help her stay upright as she shucks her shirt over her head and tosses it away. Her bottoms are another issue. The left leg of her pants is rolled up above the bulky bandage, so unless they cut her pants entirely off, they can only be undone and pushed down around her hips. Aloy unties her laces with shaky hands and shoves them out of the way, along with her underthings. They won’t be able to get terribly creative tonight, but Aloy can already tell she won’t need much at all.

Petra’s lips trace the curves of her bare breasts, her hard, aching nipples. It feels like it’s been forever since she’s had Petra’s hot mouth on them. She feels ultra-sensitive, touch-starved, already on edge. If Petra took long enough, Aloy could probably climax from her breasts alone. Mercifully, Petra reaches between Aloy’s legs, playing in her damp pubic hair, delving between her swollen folds. Aloy clenches her teeth together and groans, but can’t thrust against Petra like she wants to, a warning pang lancing down her leg, all the way to her toes. This is going to be more difficult than she thought.

“Shhhh,” Petra soothes in her ear, a lone finger tracing Aloy back and forth, swirling through her wetness with quiet, slick sounds. Aloy tries to keep herself still, to breathe slowly and evenly, but can’t. Petra’s calluses catch and drag on her most tender parts and Aloy’s hips jolt, trying to chase the wonderful finger as it retreats. Petra smiles at her eagerness, kisses Aloy’s flushed neck and shoulders, and then suddenly slides two thick fingers all the way inside of her. Aloy arches back against the bedroll, frantically trying not to jostle her leg too badly. She can feel veins bulging in her neck and chokes in a lungful of air.

Slow and steady, as if they have all the time in the world, Petra works Aloy towards a toe-curling finish. Her fingers bend, beckon, rub, scissor, and swirl. It’s too much. It’s just enough.

Aloy comes with a strained shout and a body-wracking shudder. Her leg hurts badly, throbbing brutally by the time she goes limp, but it’s entirely worth it. Petra licks the sweat off her collarbones and the tops of her breasts, then removes her fingers from Aloy and brings them to her mouth, humming appreciatively at the taste. Aloy feels more tired and spent than usual, eyelids already drooping against her wishes. She wanted to touch Petra back, but her strength is flagging.

She tries to reach for her, but Petra gently pushes her hand down and holds it in her own. “Go to sleep, Aloy,” she murmurs in her hair, wiggling over so they are pressed as close as possible. Aloy tries to protest, but it comes out as a timid grunt, and then she is asleep.

She sleeps like a rock, and wakes horribly late. It’s almost noon, and she’s starving. She dresses herself with only some trouble and hops out of the forge to find Petra on the roof, a rakish grin on her face.

“My little Nora princess is finally up,” she teases with a twinkle in her eye. “Sleep well?”

Despite herself, Aloy blushes. Her leg is sore but not terribly painful. The hungry throb between her legs has lessened, but has not disappeared entirely, and lingers throughout the day.

That night, Petra takes her again, turning Aloy around so they are spooned, back to front, her arm slung around Aloy’s waist, fingers working busily in Aloy’s unlaced pants. Aloy comes with a cry and again falls asleep almost immediately afterward. Apparently, her broken leg has affected her much more than she first thought.

For the next few days, Aloy’s hunger remains. Petra’s fingers are like magic, bringing her to a gasping climax after only a few minutes every night, but they aren’t enough. Aloy needs more, needs Petra to take her hard and long, but her leg won’t allow it. The thought of Petra climbing atop her, metal shaft protruding from between her legs, actually makes her cringe in anticipation of pain rather than arousal. The fact that it is something she desperately wants but cannot have makes her all the more furious. It is how she felt during the very first days of recovery after her leg had broken; helpless and hopeless.

Then, one evening, as they lay together in front of the small fire in their forge, Petra says, “I have a surprise for you.”

Aloy goes still. Petra’s surprises, though often embarrassing on Aloy’s part, are always pleasurable in the end.

“Oh?” she says, and waits. Petra chuckles and reaches for her pack by the bedroll, then extends the hand to Aloy, palm down, fingers curled around a tiny object. Aloy puts her own hand beneath, and Petra drops something small, smooth, and surprisingly heavy into it.

Aloy has no idea what it is. If she had to guess, she’d say it looks sort of like an egg. It’s about the size of one, maybe a little bigger, but rounder, not so oblong.

“What does it do?” she asks, turning it this way and that. It reminds her of the ammunition some of Petra’s heavy weapons use. Fleetingly, she hopes this one will not explode in her hand.

Petra takes the egg back from her and, holding the ends between her fingers, twists, and the egg splits into two separate pieces with a soft click. Inside the ‘shell’ is the tiniest machine heart Aloy has ever seen, surrounded by a nest of colorful wires. After Aloy has looked her fill, Petra puts the pieces back together and depresses a hidden button on one side. The egg comes alive in her hand with a furious buzzing, as if there is a little animal inside, fighting to escape. Aloy laughs as the egg bounces around Petra’s open palm, growling tinnilly at them.

“What—?” she begins to ask, still uncertain of its purpose—until, that is, Petra takes the egg and unceremoniously places it against Aloy’s clothed breast. Dampened by the layers of animal skins, Aloy still yelps and jerks away in reflex as the egg buzzes against her nipple, hardening it almost instantly. A hot flush burns in her ears.

“How is it?” Petra asks excitedly, her smile wicked and teasing.

Flustered, Aloy splutters an unintelligible reply.

“That good, huh?”

"Petra!”

“What?”

“Is—is that what it’s for?”

“What else?”

“You—you could’ve warned me.”

Petra rolls her eyes at her. “It’s fine. I made sure it’s totally safe.”

“What did you do?” Aloy asks. “Test it on yourself?”

“Of course,” Petra chuckles. Aloy stutters momentarily as she pictures it—Petra, holding the rumbling egg over her breasts, gasping and sweating, then bringing it down, down, down—

“When did you make it?” she asks, to cover up her mortification.

“Been working on it for a while. Since you got hurt, really. I mean, it’s been in my head for a while, I’ve just never actually, you know, built it.”

“…Okay.”

Petra waits exactly three seconds before leaning forward again. “So. Want to try it?”

Aloy hesitates. She isn’t sure if she’s ready to get a working machine that close to her private parts, but she trusts Petra implicitly, and she is curious about what it’ll feel like, especially when just a momentary touch through two layers of clothing felt so nice…

“Oka—”

Before she can even finish, Petra is off the bedroll, fishing through her bag to pull out a second egg the same size as the first. She looks like she’s just been told she and Aloy will be spending an entire week in a brothel for free.

“Great!” She helps Aloy take off her top and then works off her bottoms. “You’ll love it, I promise!” Baladga has sewed Aloy a new pair of pants with lacing down the sides, so she can wear them even with the bandage and splint. Aloy has never been more grateful, as now she can get completely naked after only a minute’s work, her heart starting to thump faster in anticipation.

Petra holds both eggs in her palms and turns on the new one. The vibrating noise is dull but relentless, a constant growl of machinery. It makes Aloy squirm and rub her thighs together. She is already growing wet.

One of the eggs has a small blue ring around it, the other a red ring. When Aloy asks about them, Petra kisses her harder than she has in weeks and says, “You’ll have to guess the secret ingredient in each. Ready?”

Breathing hard, Aloy nods. Slowly, so Aloy won’t jump or flinch, Petra brings the blue-ringed egg to the well-developed muscle on Aloy’s shoulder, just barely grazing her. Once Aloy is used to the fluttery, monotonous vibration of the little machine, she draws it inward, toward her breast. The faint thrum of it feels insanely good before it even hits her nipple, where Petra presses it firmly.

The egg is delightfully cold against Aloy's erect nipple, making it strain all the more, numbed by the intense vibration after only a moment or two. _Chillwater_ , she realizes, and moans loudly. How Petra managed to use such a minute amount in such a small object is absolutely mind-boggling.

Then Petra brings the second egg into play, and presses it to Aloy’s other nipple with no warning. This one is hot enough to tingle, but not burn—blaze. The dual sensations of hot and cold on both her breasts at the same time is almost enough to make Aloy scream.

Petra eats up the strained, wanton expression on her face with visible relish and kisses her breathless. Aloy wants to say something, maybe tell Petra she loves her, but she can’t speak, can’t so much as formulate a proper sentence in her head. The eggs buzz and buzz and buzz.

Something crests between Aloy’s legs—a quick, snapping climax. Aloy gasps and writhes through it. Beside her, Petra groans. The eggs circle Aloy’s throbbing nipples once, twice, and then descend the flat plane of her stomach, making the muscles of her torso twitch and flex.

Petra doesn’t go straight for the obvious. She traces the eggs over the tops of Aloy’s hips, right where they meet her thighs, following the rigid line of muscle there. She retraces her path to tap one against Aloy’s belly button, the other against the subtle rise of Aloy’s pubic bone. Then she teases the delicate skin along Aloy’s inner thighs until her legs are both shaking fiercely, even the broken one. Aloy can’t even feel the pain anymore. Petra is being so gentle it’s driving her insane, every nerve ending in her body crying out at once. Sweat glistens on her arms and legs and belly. Her nipples still ache sweetly from their abuse.

Using her thumb, Petra runs the chillwater egg over Aloy’s wetly matted pubic hair to find the glistening folds beneath. The cold makes her insides clench, and she hisses, head flung back, long hair tangled and sweaty. Then Petra moves the egg back and down, so it slips inside her with only a slight nudge, and Aloy goes completely still, eyes bugging. The vibrations race through her, shooting sparks up to her chest, rocking her to the core. It’s almost too much.

Almost.

In her haze of pleasure, she’s forgotten about the second egg, and when the hot metal touches her sweet spot, she convulses, her vision going blank for a split second. She makes an odd croaking sound and jerks her hips, as if to escape the relentless torture of the buzzing egg. Petra doesn’t let her, pinning Aloy’s hip under her leg and holding the egg more firmly against her.

Aloy struggles not to pass out, not to climax too soon, wanting this moment to never end. She starts to shout nonsensical things, and Petra kisses her so the entire town doesn’t overhear them, but all that does it rip all the air from Aloy’s chest and make her buck and fight harder than ever, growing faint. She feels a beast, a madwoman. For a moment, she forgets her own name.

When she comes, it’s hard and long, and at the very tail end of it, her insides clench so tightly the egg inside her actually pops out, falling to the bedroll with a small wet _thud_. Aloy feels wrecked, dizzy, and weak. She will not stop twitching. She cannot believe Petra has given her this gift. Will her Oseram lover ever stop surprising her? Dimly, she hears Petra putting the eggs away, mumbling to herself, probably already planning improvements to tinker with tomorrow.

“Love you,” she mumbles into Petra’s warm neck. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Aloy,” Petra says with uncharacteristic gravity. Aloy would kiss her again if she weren’t so sleepy. As it is, all she can manage is a shaky smile before her head drops to the pillow. She can feel the weariness in her bones fading away, melting her body into a warm jelly. This is what she needed, what she's waited for. Petra has found a way to give it to her, broken leg and all.

Time goes quicker after that. Aloy is no longer counting the days or weeks at all when suddenly Matga approaches one morning and announces the splint and bandage can be removed. Aloy stares at her in shock, dimly realizing her leg has not hurt in quite a while. Has it really already been two whole months?

Slowly, as if in reverence, Magda slices the bandage apart with a sharp knife, then carefully rolls the cloth off Aloy’s thigh, baring the white skin beneath. Aloy cocks her head and looks at her leg. It’s paler than the other now, and just a bit leaner, not as muscled as her right. She touches it, and the skin feels strange. Rough. Madga does a cursory examination, makes Aloy stretch her leg out, bend and extend it, and then announces she’s completely recovered. When Aloy nervously asks if that means she doesn't need her crutch anymore, or can go hunting, Madga waves an errant hand, already finished with her, and walks off.

Alone, Aloy reties her pants, stands shakily and takes a tentative step forward, then another. Her leg doesn’t protest in the least. Emboldened, she walks halfway up the nearby steps to the roof of the forge, and then, on the way down, she jumps over the last three, landing steady as a rock at the bottom without even a hint of pain.

She throws her head back and whoops. People hear, look over curiously. Petra’s head peeks over the edge of the forge roof to see what the commotion is about. When she sees Aloy, she grins. Aloy grins back, smiling so wide her face stings.

At long last, her leg is healed. She feels herself again.

"My little hunter is finally free to roam the vast wilds once more,” Petra calls warmly down to her.

Already, Aloy is plotting her next journey in her head. If she leaves tomorrow, she can beat out the encroaching fall rains. “You know I’ll always come home,” she replies.

“Of course. You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” She blows Aloy a kiss, then disappears back over the lip of the roof, returning to her work.

It has been an odd, strangely exciting two months. Aloy may not have left Free Heap, but she has still managed to have an adventure or two. It’s good to sit sometimes. She knows this now. Her injury gave her the time to truly appreciate what she has, and the people around her, how she'd taken then for granted. She knew they mattered before, just not how much. This truly has become her home.

And Petra. Petra has been so patient. So kind. If possible, Aloy feels as though her love for Petra has only grown stronger throughout this infuriating ordeal. She'd been so angry at first. So selfish and hard-headed and bitter, before learning to accept what had happened, and taking advantage of her time with those who were precious to her.

Now? Now she is the happiest she’s ever been.

Suddenly, she hears a yowl, and a loud bang as a heavy weapon misfires. A moment later, Petra storms down the roof steps, holding her right wrist.

“I think I just broke my arm,” she snarls, and stalks toward Matga’s hut.

Aloy lets out a slow breath and battles a sudden, improper urge to burst out laughing.

Maybe she’ll be okay with staying put for another month or two.


End file.
